


What We Are When We're Alone

by ThatFiend



Category: Bleach
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dangerous Cooking Habits, Improper Use of an Apron, Improvised Sex Toys, Kitchen Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pet Names, light aftercare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 05:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17482136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatFiend/pseuds/ThatFiend
Summary: Ichigo comes home to a surprise with a bow on it.





	What We Are When We're Alone

Ichigo’s relieved to see the dented hardwood of the front door to the apartment he and Grimmjow share. Work had been a bitch and he’s sick of people. Exhausted himself with trying not to break someone or something, or just walk the fuck out for good.

 

Turns out there’s not a whole lot of use for literature studies, but the English part of his degree was enough to get him a decent wage as a translator; as long he was willing to set fire to his sanity.

 

He has to jiggle the lock ( _he’s not getting any deposit back on this place_ ) to get the key to turn, shoves the door open and practically slams it shut. It’s quiet and smells like curry and he takes a second to just lean against the door and breathe.

 

 _I didn’t kill anyone._ He deserves a beer, or six.

 

“Grimm? you home?” Ichigo calls as he toes off his shoes and tosses his tie. He’d pulled it off forty minutes ago before even making it onto the train. Done feeling like he was being slowly strangled by work - throws it at the unit by the door, not really caring if it lands or not.

 

“In the kitch-chen.” Grimmjow calls back, weirdly breathless.

 

Suspicious, Ichigo makes a beeline for the kitchen. He doesn’t expect what he finds.

 

Grimmjow, folded over the kitchen counter, legs spread and ass at the perfect angle for Ichigo coming through the front door.

 

In nothing but an apron.

 

Black ribbons make an ‘X’ over his back, straining over the muscles they so perfectly emphasise. Another set make a large bow at the base of his spine, the tails trailing down long enough to teasingly brush the backs of Grimmjow’s powerful thighs.

 

Something _animal_ blinks awake in Ichigo’s brain and he feels himself forgetting about being stressed or tired as he stalks towards Grimmjow, taking in every little detail of the tableau before him.

 

He's already brought himself to the edge once and held himself back. Ichigo knows from the little puddle of translucent precum decorating the countertop. A glossy shine over the wooden surface.

 

Now he's just got to decide if Grimm gets a reward or punishment for that.

 

Grimmjow's shamelessly still working himself with one hand braced on the counter and the other slid beneath his hot little apron, does something particularly good with it since he lets out a little pleasured gasp.

 

And all before Ichigo’s had a chance to touch him at all.

 

 _Punishment_ , Ichigo decides, looking at that unblemished ass right before he squeezes it painful-tight. He relishes the shocked little hiss Grimmjow lets out before it devolves into a moan when his hand wraps around the other’s cock, apron and all.

 

The apron's a cheaply made thing, the fabric rough, and it quickly drags overstimulated whimpers out of Grimm even as his ass rocks back to grind on Ichigo's clothed dick without fail. Ichigo smacks his thigh sharply, his slut isn't getting out of this punishment by being cute. It was rude to start without him.

 

He drags his hand over the apron in longer, faster strokes. Grimmjow isn't able to hold still, body trembling as he bites back his whines; his grinding losing all rhythm. Ichigo presses closer, the hand on Grimmjow’s ass sliding up to grip the soft hairs of his slut’s nape and tug him back by the hair so he can see his expression.

 

Those perfect, wicked teeth are sunken into his lower lip. Moisture gathered on his eyelashes and eyeliner smudged already, leaving trails over flushed cheeks.

 

 _Such a careless slut._ Ichigo's barely started and he's already so undone.

 

_This is why he shouldn't play by himself._

 

"... -se."

 

Ichigo barely catches Grimmjow's quiet mewl. He doesn't feel like being merciful just yet.

 

"What's that?" he husks into a pink-tinted ear. "Did my needy slut say something?"

  
Just the words make Grimmjow flush deeper, biting his lip harder as he lets out a frustrated whine at Ichigo's games. Ichigo adds a twist to the next stroke and feels the body beneath him jolt.

 

Grimmjow chokes on his own complaints, throat working furiously as Ichigo bites at it. There's a few breaths, a few more brutal strokes, before Grimmjow begs again.

 

"Please. Please, pleasepleaseplease." he rasps between whimpers, body slack and trembling against Ichigo's own.

 

Ichigo slows his strokes into something almost tender if it weren't for the coarse fabric being methodically ground over the leaking head of Grimmjow's cock. The cloth is practically sopping.

 

"Mhmmmmmm. Look at how wet you are for me already." he rumbles against bitten skin, eyes focused on the wet spot and the flashes of angry, red skin beneath it.

 

Grimmjow's wheezing like he's run a marathon, still swallowing back his complaints and chanting quiet pleas in fervent hope.

  
"Please what, darling?" Ichigo teases, thumbing at Grimmjow's slit and rocking into that perfect ass. "Stop? Let you come?” He offers between slow, firm, pumps. A thumbnail just catching on the slit as he slides his grip back. “Fuck you?"

 

Grimmjow doesn't dare answer. The one electric blue eye Ichigo can see blown wide and nervous and flitting over his face like it might hold the answer.

 

Ichigo only plans on doing two of those things.

 

He lets himself smile as he releases sweat-soaked hair and scratches a trail down Grimmjow's broad back. Is gratified when the other man shudders but only leans further into him for support. Grimmjow's lax and unsteady from the rough treatment, taking every indulgence he can from the reprieve Ichigo’s allowing him. However brief Ichigo's chosen to make it.

  
Grimmjow doesn't register him catching the long trail of ribbon spilling from the bow, not soon enough to stop him from making a tight loop around the base of his sac anyway.

 

Ichigo swats the desperate hand away casually, giving a punishing tug on his captive’s cock to deter any further attempts. Grimmjow hisses and another swift tug from both Ichigo’s hand and the ribbon changes the sound into a keen for mercy.

 

_Better._

 

Grimmjow had made such a neat bow at the back of his cute little apron, it makes such a sweet frame for his delicious ass. Ichigo knows he must have attempted it at least a few times to get it _just so_. He'd hate for his own efforts to look sloppy.

 

Grimmjow doesn't move when Ichigo slides to his knees, just sags against the counter helplessly with wide, disbelieving eyes. His poor slut doesn't have enough blood upstairs to properly string a thought together it seems.

  
But Ichigo supposes he can let him dream a little longer, as he delicately laps at the precum still leaking from the abused head of Grimmjow’s pretty cock.

 

He strokes a shaking thigh, pulling back just a little.

 

"You have to remember to breathe, Slut."

 

Grimmjow gasps like the airs been punched out of him, nodding desperately and tilting his hips just a touch more towards Ichigo's wet, grinning mouth.

 

With a sigh, Ichigo sucks in the swollen head and tongues at the slit. Grimmjow tenses and receives the barest hint of teeth in warning.

 

It's good that he's so caught up in what Ichigo is doing with his mouth. So distracted by tongue and teeth and almost, _almost_ perfect suction, that he hasn't registered at all what Ichigo has been doing with his hands until he pulls the bow tight

 

The lovely sight of Grimmjow's bow-framed, bound cock is beautifully complimented by the desperate whimper of realisation he lets out.

 

Ichigo gives it a parting kiss with a smile.

 

Smoothly rising to his feet, Ichigo admires the full extent of his handiwork. Sunken over the counter, spine arched towards him, tears slipping away from crystalline eyes as his chest heaves and he tries not to sob; Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is a trembling testament to _need_.

 

Nothing gets him hotter.

 

Ichigo finally registers how uncomfortably tight his slacks are. _The sacrifices he makes for his needy little slut,_ he thinks as he casually pops both buttons and pulls down his fly, hissing as it catches on his hardness.

 

At least he has just the right mouth ready to kiss it better.

 

Grimmjow's eyes are already fixated on his cock, a touch less betrayed and a lot hungrier.

  
"Are you ready to apologise properly, Slut?" Ichigo asks as he slowly pumps his his shaft in a comfortable, teasing rhythm. Catching the droplets of precum on his thumb.

 

Grimmjow licks his lips, eyes avid.

 

"Yeah." he sighs. Ichigo knows he's relieved to have something else to focus on than his own blocked release.

 

"Yeah, who?" Ichigo presses with an edge to his voice, still masturbating leisurely.

 

"Yes, Sir." Grimmjow corrects himself, voice barely more than a rasp and hotter for it. "Please."

 

Ichigo pretends to be unmoved. There's nothing he likes more than to drive Grimmjow into the depths of this particular headspace.

  
All he has to do is wait a little more.

 

Grimmjow isn't entirely able to fight back the whine at Ichigo's apparent indifference, but he _tries_ . Those warriors hands are balled and shaking impotently at his sides because he can't take what he wants. Not this time, not _ever_ with Ichigo.

 

"Please, Sir." he begs with his throat bared, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  
Ichigo's smile softens. And he waits a few heartbeats more.

 

"I wanna be good for you." Grimmjow whispers.

 

 _That's what I was waiting on_ , Ichigo thinks fondly even as he schools his features back into an unimpressed glare. "Then get on your knees and prove it to me, Slut." he orders.

 

It's amazing how Grimmjow can still flush darker at the pet name, and Ichigo never tires of it.

  
The former Espada sinks to his knees as gracefully as he can on weak legs, nuzzling gratefully into Ichigo's thigh. A tentative hand reaches for the waistband of his slacks.

 

"Leave them be."

 

Grimmjow starts, barely, at the barked command, but dutifully reaches instead for Ichigo's weeping cock, brushing warm fingers against Ichigo's own. Ichigo doesn't relinquish quite yet.

 

"If I ordered you to keep your hands behind you back while I fuck down your throat, I wonder if you could be a good enough slut to hold out and take it?" He asks aloud, not directly addressing Grimmjow kneeling at his feet.

 

"I would for you." Grimmjow breathes, hoarse and confident and unashamed.

 

It always comes as a thrill for Ichigo that Grimmjow might just let him ask for _anything_ . _Everything_.

 

Nobody but Ichigo gets to see those broad shoulders and proud head, bowed to them. Not like this. Not like anything. The one time Urahara tried to make Grimmjow kowtow to him as a prize for a lost wager, it had been Ichigo who had swiftly, violently, disabused him of the notion.

  
Grimmjow's pride was theirs alone.

 

"Hands behind your back then." Ichigo demands. He's entranced by how the position makes Grimmjow's spine straighten, highlights the sheer breadth of his chest and shoulders.

  
Grimmjow tilts his head back up, full lips already slightly parted. Vibrant blue eyes meets brown with pride at Ichigo's silent admiration.

 

Ichigo presses a hand through wild locks even as he tilts his hips forward. Feels the press of butterfly kisses to his glans.

  
"No gag to help you this time, Slut." He tells Grimmjow airily, fingers still carding gently through soft, blue hair before taking a firm grip. "I don't want to feel any teeth.” Ichigo hisses in warning. "But stick out that pretty pink tongue, I want to coat every inch of it."

 

A wet swipe, more dexterous than any human tongue could do, streaks a curl of moisture around the head of his cock.

  
"Cute." Ichigo deadpans, before thrusting in to the hilt.

 

Grimmjow chokes, his throat a rapid flutter massaging Ichigo's dick right down to the root and Ichigo can feel him struggling for deep breaths where Grimmjow's nose is pressed into his pubis.

  
Ichigo doesn't set a gentle pace, pulling back to the just the head before slamming home again. Grimmjow's arms tense, staining against his instinct for action and he fights to hold them, but they stay exactly where they are.

 

Ichigo doesn't take his eyes off Grimmjow, watching his every resistance to flinching and admiring how the strain only makes him expand. How the muscles of his torso strain and boldly, sharply, define themselves. How his eyes have blown wide and dark and animal, lost in the sensation he willingly trapped himself into.

 

He tightens his grip on Grimmjow's hair, dragging his head back so he can fuck deeper into that molten-velvet throat and look him in the eyes as Grimmjow sinks deeper into his mind. That warm tongue still lapping at his length just like he'd demanded, and every twitch of his arms violently suppressed on Ichigo's whim.

  
But Grimmjow still watches him like Ichigo's his lifeline in a storm at sea.

 

Ichigo doesn't know what he could have done to deserve this.

  
It’s the most erotic thing he's ever experienced in his life. No matter what games they play.

 

There's a sound, somewhere between a whine and a roar that rises from Grimmjow, his whole body seizing at once and the added vibrations and pressure push Ichigo over the edge into white noise and the cosmos.

 

He's lucky he's still standing after the blackout he experienced. Luckier still that his body pulled out after orgasm.

  
Grimmjow's head is pressed against his thigh, hanging low and panting as though he'd swam a marathon on one breath. Ichigo drops to the ground, cupping his lover’s face in both hands and pushing sweaty locks of hair back. There's a bright sheen of sweat coating his skin and white spilling over plush lips. Grimmjow's blue eyes are wild, and shocked, and a little pained.

 

"Grimmjow, Grimm. Are you okay? did I hurt you?"

 

Grimmjow presses his head heavier into Ichigo's hands and winces as his body is forced to shift. Ichigo feels panic rise up, but Grimmjow just leans more weight into him.

  
"Grimm. Grimm let me see what's wrong." Ichigo presses, unwilling to force his way past Grimmjow's weight lest he aggravate whatever’s hurting.

 

"S'not that bad, Ichi." Grimmjow rumbles from the proximity of his shoulder.

 

Ichigo feels himself cracking.

 

"I didn't want to hurt you at all." He mumbles into blue hair. Can't stop himself from leaving a trail of tentative apologetic kisses there.

 

An arm wraps around his neck and Grimmjow gives a dry chuckle. "I don't think either of us thought I could come so hard from having my throat fucked out, Ichi.”

 

What little of Grimmjow’s face Ichigo can see is darkly flushed. No matter how casual he tries to sound, Grimmjow is embarrassed that he had come entirely untouched. Come untouched while being mercilessly used without even a thought towards his pleasure.

 

Because it was _Ichigo_ doing it.

 

Ichigo feels a swell of affection and pride that he’d admit it anyway. They’ve come such a long way from being two insecure assholes, desperate to hide their flaws and only knowing how to goad each other.

 

He pulls Grimmjow into him, gently twisting the other man so he’s seated in his lap. Grimmjow winces a little but looks entirely content once he’s sprawled against Ichigo, practically purring as Ichigo’s arms curl around him, one hand wrapping over his waist and the other massaging slow circles into a taught shoulder. From this angle Ichigo can see the wet streak painting almost the entirety of the bottom panel of the apron.

 

_Fuck, he’d come a lot._

 

Ichigo’s pretty sure Grimmjow must have passed out for a moment himself during that orgasm. His own dick gives a valiant twitch at the thought.

 

Grimmjow feels it, tenses. Ichigo rubs a soothing hand down his side, kisses his hair again. He doesn’t have another one in him right now.

 

His fingers slyly catch on the edge of the apron, skimming lower. Grimmjow tilts his head up to squint at him and Ichigo offers him a smile, even as he flips the fabric over to one side. The wet slap of it meeting the skin of Grimmjow’s thigh is a little hilarious, but Ichigo tries not to look _too_ amused by it for Grimmjow’s sake.

 

He’s pretty quickly distracted anyway by what he’s uncovered.

 

Grimmjow is still semi-hard and hot to the touch. Still flush in his bondage. Even tilted askew, the bow makes for an enticing decoration. Grimmjow shudders as Ichigo delicately traces the edge of one ribbon with a fingertip.

 

“T-tied that fucker pretty tight.” he huffs into Ichigo's neck.

 

“Mhmmm.” Ichigo purrs, toying with a tail of the bow and feeling how Grimmjow stops breathing in sheer anticipation. Slowly, slowly, Ichigo pulls the ribbon free with a languorous stroke of that pretty cock. Grimmjow gasps, mouthing at Ichigo’s neck as a last stream of come leaks over his hand. “I really did.”

 

Grimmjow doesn’t have the energy to even look mutinous, worn out and cuddled into Ichigo, blue eyes at half-mast and seconds away from a post-coital nap. The sight makes a warmth curl in Ichigo’s chest.

 

“Got it in you to stay awake long enough for a quick bath?” He asks, sliding his arms under his taller lover.

 

“Nnnnngh.”

 

“Heh, alright.” Ichigo says, already walking towards the bedroom. “Take-away later?” he offers casually. Knows they’re both going to be starving by the time they wake up.

 

“I cooked curry.” Grimmjow tiredly mumbles.

 

Ichigo laughs a little incredulously. “In only the apron? Dangerous, dangerous.” he teases.

 

A heel thunks against Ichigo’s side. “Shut the fuck up, Kurosaki. You love it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Filth. That's the answer to the title - Filth, but sugary too.


End file.
